


take a sip

by irene_addling



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Slow Burn, UPDATE: this is an angst-moderate zone, We'll get there, this is a no-angst zone folks, with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-11-15 18:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18078428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irene_addling/pseuds/irene_addling
Summary: In which Klaus is a bartender, Diego is the new bouncer, and there's something going on here that he's definitely missing.





	1. Week One

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to everyone on the Kliego discord, particularly Kas, Rachel, Erin, and Eve, for cheerleading/enabling this.

The new bouncer started work on a Wednesday.

Klaus doesn’t think much of him, at first, watching out of the corner of his eye as he wipes down the bar. He looked like every other bouncer that doesn’t last a week: short hair, big muscles, black t-shirt, permanent scowl. Which, okay, could get Klaus going in the right context, but there’s one other piece of the Bouncer Profile that complicated that, which was _heterosexual._ The Academy Bar wasn’t technically a queer spot, but internalized bullshit meant most straight men weren’t caught dead in a place that served every cocktail with a customized paper umbrella, so its reputation was decidedly un-hetero. But, despite the flocks of curious tourists, Instagram seekers, and theater majors from the college up the road—hardly a challenge for anyone working security—every bouncer Klaus could remember since he took this job has been straighter than a ruler. And this guy—Diego, he thinks he heard Vanya and Allison call him during a smoke break—looked like he’d be no different.

“He’s got nice pecs,” Ben said.

 _“Jesus christ,”_ Alison hissed, jumping about a foot and nearly dropping the glass she’d been wiping. There was a reason they called Ben a ghost: he was always around, always quiet, and always sneaks up on you, no matter how hard you’re looking. (Unless you were Klaus, who just found the whole thing hilarious.)

“Klaus,” Vanya said, barely looking up from the sheet music she’d spread across the bar, “tell your roommate to stop doing that.”

“I’m a paying customer,” Ben replied, putting his beer down. “I have the same right to be here as everyone else.”

“We’re not even open yet,” Allison said, but she was smiling none the less. “You’re just here to bother Klaus.”

“Downside of sharing a car,” Klaus cut in, but he was smiling, to. Really, Ben could never bother him: after accepting a desperate human disaster two days out of rehab to be his roommate off Craigslist, no questions asked, Ben could never _bother_ Klaus again. Klaus wasn’t sure he’d have a paying job, or a twelve-month sobriety chip, without him.

Even if he did drink at least two free beers a night, the bastard.

“Anyway,” Klaus drawled, “back to the new guy. What are your bets for how long his masculinity can take it here? Three weeks?”

“He looks pretty straight,” Vanya said. “I’ve got money on two.”

“You’re lowballing him,” Allison replied, sticking her tongue out as she tried to slice a tiny, shriveled lemon into eight slices, because apparently Five was too cheap to get them organic produce. “Almost everyone will work a job for four weeks if they’ve got rent due. I’ve booked like three Lifetime movies near the end of a month.”

“You never told us about those,” Ben said, amused.

“I don’t tell _anyone_ about those.”

It was kind of ridiculous, Klaus thought as he watched Allison attack her lemon with a vengeance, that he was working with Allison now at a sticky tourist bar, because some day she was going to be a star. She just had it: charisma, je ne sais qua, a warm glow, _something._ She was too humble to ever talk about it, but the fact that she’d already booked three Lifetime movies and two commercials after less than a year in Hollywood confirmed it. Klaus just hopes she’d invite him to the Oscars eventually. 

“Time is it?”

Ben checked his watch. “Four fifty-eight.”

“Shit.” Vanya hustled to gather up her sheet music. “Of course Five had to spring that it was ABBA night on me this morning—”

“You don’t like ABBA?” Klaus wasn’t sure that this would end his friendship with Vanya, but it might be close.

“I don’t _know_ ABBA. They’re not exactly lounge standards.” Vanya stuffed the last page into her folder and sighed. “Get ready for ‘Dancing Queen’ on loop for five hours.”

Allison groaned. Klaus cheered.

As Vanya scurried to the piano and Allison moved on to a sad-looking orange, Klaus’ eyes wandered back to maybe-Diego. He still looked heterosexual. But he didn’t look uncomfortable, which was interesting. In fact, he seemed to be making himself at home. Looking around the room, checking out the decorations…

…and heading over to the bar. Shit. Klaus hoped his nail polish wasn’t chipped, and that he wouldn’t have to chip it by punching maybe-Diego when he sneered at his nail polish. (Because it was always when, when the bouncers came inside. Never if.)

“H-hey.” Maybe-Diego stammered, smiling warmly, “want some h-help with that?”

Well. Turned out bouncers could be surprise you.

Allison looked up from her orange. “Me?”

“Yeah. Looks like you’re having some—“ the guy cleared his throat, presumably before he could stammer again, but the blush high on his cheekbones spoke for itself. “Sorry. Old h-habit. Looks like you’re having some trouble there.”

Allison giggled. “That’s one way to put it.” She put the knife down and wiped her hands on a paper towel. “Our manager’s a total hardass, he always gets us the oldest produce. We can never get good wedges to save our lives.”

“Isn’t your manager the thirteen year old?”

“Five,” Klaus breezed in, because he timed every conversation with potentially intimidating men for when he could breeze in and knock them off-guard, “insists he’ll be fifteen in March, and also that there’s no law that he can’t sell alcohol, just laws against drinking it.” He threw maybe-Diego a wink. 

Diego couldn’t look away fast enough. Klaus allowed himself a pout.

“A-a—“ Diego cleared his throat again. “Allow me? I think I can help.”

Allison handed him the last orange in the pile, but she was watching Klaus out of the corner of her eye, and her expression was too knowing. “Be my guest.”

To be honest, Klaus didn’t know what he was expecting. But it definitely wasn’t a near-boner from watching a guy _cut an orange._

But…maybe-Diego handled knives like Vanya handled the piano, or like Klaus used to handle drugs. Like they were meant to be together. It was quick and flashy and discreet yet completely showing off, and in less than five seconds, the tiny, pitiful fruit was in eight perfect slices on Allison’s cutting board.

Maybe-Diego sheathed his knife. 

Allison oogled.

Klaus swallowed hard.

“What are you,” he asked, with the half of his brain that was still functioning, “a sous chef? A ninja?”

Maybe-ninja smiled. “Sp-Special forces. Just got back.”

Klaus had a sudden, brutal flash of those hands using the knife somewhere else, the kind of thought that was really inappropriate to have at work.

“What was your name again?”

Allison’s smile had morphed from slightly knowing to full-on devious.

Klaus extended a hand. The new bouncer didn’t even blink at the nail polish, and he had the kind of firm grip that sent Klaus’ mind into overdrive.

“Diego. Nice to meet you…”

“Klaus.”

Diego smiled. “N-nice to meet you, Klaus.”

At his elbow, Allison snickered.

“Invite me to the wedding,” she whispered as maybe-Diego walked away.

“Much as you’d look stunning in a bridesmaid gown,” Klaus said, watching Diego’s back retreat with a swoop of disappointment, “I don’t think he was here for me.” Of course a guy like that would come over blushing to the bar and show off his knife skills for a girl like Allison: Klaus could enjoy the view, but he knew better than to get his hopes up.

Allison threw him an elbow. “Just keep telling yourself that.”

Before Klaus could respond, Allison had disappeared down the bar to serve their first customer. And then, Vanya’s piano tinkled out over the room, and it was just another Wednesday at the Academy. No matter how hot the new, probably-straight bouncer was, it was just another Wednesday, and Klaus rolled his sleeves up and started making drinks.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

In a change of pace from the usual, the night started to get interesting _after_ Luther showed up.

They closed at midnight on weekdays, and not even ABBA could keep many people out on a Wednesday, and so by eleven fifty-five the place was pretty much deserted; even Ben had taken an Uber home. Klaus had spent most of the night with his eyes on Diego, who spent most of the night charming everyone who walked through the door. He was good at his job: intimidating, and taking no bullshit from the flocks of high schoolers with terrible fakes, but also kind. Klaus had watched him call a cab for a drunk girl twice, and direct a few more back to the bar for water before he let them leave. Klaus poured every one a glass with a growing acknowledgment that if he found this adorable, he was probably already fucked.

“How’s the new guy?” Luther asked, voice full of gravitas he hadn’t earned.

“Sweet,” Allison replied, and Luther glared at Diego like he might snap his neck.

“Weird,” Klaus added quickly, because he didn’t want Luther snapping Diego’s neck. (Although he’d be thinking about a lot of things involving Diego and people’s necks in the shower tonight. Kinky things.) “Good weird. But weird.”

“Hey, sweetheart!” Tan Suit slurred from down the bar. “Gimme one for the road!”

Allison turned to hide her frustration. Tan Suit, who claimed he was some kind of producer, had been parked on his barstool for the past three hours, and he hadn’t left Allison alone since she’d mentioned she was an actress. If every drunk self-proclaimed producer had half the “amazing opportunities” they offered to young actresses out of their league, Klaus thought, Hollywood would be overflowing. 

“Want me to handle him?” Klaus asked. He didn’t think a guy like that would respect him much, but he was in a mood tonight. Maybe he could work off his sexual frustration in a fistfight. He’d definitely done worse.

“He’ll just get angry that I’m avoiding him,” Allison muttered. “It’s last call, I’ll make him leave. You get him if he comes back.”

“Rodger, Hammerstein.” The inside joke made Allison genuinely smile, at least, before she turned around and had to plaster on a fake one. 

“Anyway,” Klaus said, turning back to Luther, “it’s been pretty quiet—“

“Just wanted to check in,” Luther insisted, and Klaus could’ve sworn he puffed his chest out, “you know. To make sure everything’s running smoothly with the new guy.”

Klaus barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “Dude, do you want a beer?”

Luther demurred, eyes never leaving Allison and Tan Suit. “Please.”

The thing about Luther wasn’t that he didn’t work here and still got free drinks: Ben drank free all the time. It was that Luther got free drinks and _no one liked him._ (Well, except Allison.) The son of the elusive and much-hated owner—who, technically, was the reason Five’s produce budget was so tight, but it was easier to grumble at Five—Luther stopped by at least three times a week, to make sure things were “running smoothly”. It was all vaguely ridiculous: Luther was nowhere near the chain of command, and Klaus was pretty sure he hadn’t talked to his father in weeks. But the dude didn’t seem to have other friends, and his crush on Allison could be seen from the moon: not only was kicking him out bad optics, but there were days when Klaus even felt sorry for him. Not _that_ sorry, but sorry enough.

“Sir,” Allison snapped, “it’s last call. You need to close your tab.”

“I’ll pay ya in something else, sweetheart.”

“Should we step in?” Luther whispered.

Klaus discreetly grabbed a paring knife from under the register. “Maybe.”

“Sir, we’re closing. You need to pay.”

“I’s an _amazing_ opportunity.”

“Sir,” Klaus called down the bar, making sure to put his knife on the counter, “We really need to close up. I can take care of your tab for you.”

The man leaned over the bar, eyes locked on Allison’s chest. Allison leaned back, unable to hid her revulsion.

“I’m not leavin’ till this sweetheart listens to my offer—“

“Hey!”

Both Klaus and Luther jumped. Diego was striding over from the door, and he was not coming over to mess around.

“Is there a problem here?”

The man blinked, like he was confused that he was suddenly facing consequences. (Klaus had seen the look on enough straight men to last a lifetime.)

“I’m askin’ this nice lady out to dinner. Is’ that a crime now?”

“Sir, this is sexual harassment, and I’m going to have to ask you to pay your tab and leave.”

Tan Suit’s nostrils flared. “I’m makin’ _conversation_ with a pretty lady. So fuckin’ politically correct these days—“

“This is the last time I’m asking politely.”

Tan Suit raised his eyebrows. “An’ what are you fairies gonna do about it?”

_CRASH!_

Before Klaus could blink, the knife that had been in his hand a second ago was in Diego’s hand, stabbed into the bar, just between Tan Suit’s fingers.

Diego pulled the man’s free arm behind his back in a chokehold.

Tan Suit wailed.

Klaus gulped.

“I _said,_ ” Diego hissed, “please pay your tab and leave. And don’t come back.” He twisted the knife into the wood, and the blade rotated just a hair away from Tan Suit’s skin. “Are we clear?”

Tan Suit gulped. “Crystal.”

Diego pulled back and flipped the knife in his hand, playfully, without even looking. “Great. I’ll wait for you to finish.”

The man’s hand was shaking so badly, he could barely sign his check. Klaus had never seen someone five whiskeys deep leave a room so quickly, but he supposed Diego did things to people. He’d certainly done things to Klaus, and he was stone sober. (He kind of regretted that, not for the first time.)

“Thank you,” Allison’s quiet tone echoed in the silent bar as the door shut behind him.

“P-part of the job, miss.”

Vanya grinned from her perch on the piano. “That was badass, dude!”

It was a flurry of activity after that, Luther running over to check on Allison, Vanya pouring herself her customary end-of-night glass of pinot noir. But Diego was at the bar, still blushing a little.

“S-sorry about the knife,” he said, and it took Klaus a moment to realize he was talking to him. “I just—“

“Keep it.” It was out of Klaus’ mouth before he even knew he was going to say it. 

“Keep it?”

“It suits you.”

Diego’s grin melted Klaus’ insides.

_Shit shit shit SHIT._

They should probably stop holding eye contact. Klaus should probably say something. He was a grown man, not some tongue-tied teenager, and he hadn’t even been that tongue-tied even when he was a teenager, but the seconds ticked on and all Klaus could do was stare into Diego’s eyes and grin like a lunatic and—

Outside, a police siren screamed, and they both jumped.

“Shit,” Klaus sighed, “did he call the cops on us?”

“Th-that’s my ride.”

Klaus raised an eyebrow. “Really.”

“Yep. R-roommate’s a cop.” He smiled. “Likes to turn the sirens on and cut through traffic.”

Klaus couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Go home, bro.” At least he’d thought to add _bro_ at the last moment, before he sounded too infatuated. “Get outta here, you’ve showed off enough.”

“N-no such thing.”

God, why did he have to be so tough and badass and commanding yet also so adorable, with the stutter, and why was that pressing all of Klaus’ buttons at once?

“Says you. And hey,” Klaus said, leaning over the bar, “if you want to show off for Allison again? Don’t do it while Luther is here.” He gestured to the end of the bar, where Luther was literally checking a bemused but amused Allison for injuries. “Trust me. The guy will gut you.”

A look of disappointment swept Diego’s face. Of course it did: straight guys hated competition.

“Noted,” he muttered, scowling at the bar. “L-later, Klaus.”

“Ride home in your illegally speedy chariot, you beautiful bastard.”

Klaus watched Diego leave, the knife he’d spontaneously gifted tucked into his belt, pink glittery handle and all.

Oh, he was _so_ fucked.


	2. Week Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry some feelings snuck into the angst-free zone!! The tags have been updated accordingly

“It’s charming.”

“No.”

“It’s funny.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s delicious,” Klaus taunted, smirking at Five. “Which you would know, if you could drink it.”

Five scowled back. “I don’t have to drink it to know the pun is atrocious.”

“All puns are atrocious!” Vanya yelled from the piano, without looking up from her phone.

“Someone’s gotta agree with me—Diego! Come help me out over here!”

Diego, walking towards the back with his bag slung over his shoulder, nearly jumped out of his skin. “H-hey, Klaus.”

In the two weeks since the Tan Suit incident, Klaus’ Diego problem hadn’t gotten better. It got worse. Their shifts didn’t interact every night, or even most nights, but whenever they did Klaus found himself spilling a _lot_ more drinks than usual. Diego was always coming over to the bar, always talking to Klaus and Allison, and he still had the goddamn pink glitter knife Klaus gave him sheathed on his belt. He even kicked out a guy who tried to make fun of him for it. 

Meanwhile, Klaus had to buy a new pairing knife with his own money, and the only color the store had left was dark gray. Klaus hated his life.

“Diego, light of my life, man I’ve been biting my tongue to resist nicknaming Fruit Ninja. Try this.”

Diego stared at the bright pink concoction Klaus had shoved at him. “S-sorry, what’s this?”

“This,” Klaus drawled, “is our themed cocktail for Queen Night tonight. I call it the ‘Bohemian Schnapp-sody’. Except _someone_ ” he glared at Five, “is being a dick about letting me sell it.”

“We don’t have enough peach schnapps to last the week as is,” Five replied, but Klaus could tell he was getting under his skin.

“Then we’ll order more! Live a little!”

“Freddie Mercury didn’t die to be disrespected with that wordplay!” Vanya yelled from the piano. She was still texting.

“Vanya, the crowd tonight isn’t going to hear any Freddie Mercury if you don’t get off Tinder.”

Vanya blushed and fumbled to shove her phone into her pocket. Five smirked. The kid really did take no prisoners.

“Anyway,” Klaus continued, “all I need is someone to drink this and tell Five it’s a masterpiece of mixology. But Vanya doesn’t drink before sets and Allison isn’t here yet and Five is the tender young age of thirteen—“

“Fourteen—“

“—and Ben’s allergic to peaches, so.” Klaus leaned against the bar and batted his eyelashes, against everything in his brain that was screaming about better judgement. (Honestly, they were used to being ignored by now.) “That leaves you to be my savior.”

Diego raised an eyebrow. “Ben is allergic to peaches?”

“I swell up like Violet Beauregarde,” Ben said, sipping his beer without looking up from Doodle Jump.

_“When did he get here?”_ Five snapped, jumping out of his skin. Klaus laughed. (So did Diego.)

“ _Pleeeeeaaaaase,_ Diego?”

Klaus might have drawn out the please to sound more sexual than usual. He might not have. It was all circumstantial, and with Diego looking like that, no jury would convict.

Diego sighed. “Fine. Just a sip, though, I’ve got w-work.”

Klaus had thrown him a wink before he could tell himself not to. “Take it, babe.” 

He could practically _hear_ Five rolling his eyes, but he didn’t dare look over, not when he could watch Diego take a swig.

“So?”

Diego’s expression was inscrutable for a few seconds.

Then, a thumbs-up.

“Hah! See?”

Diego finished his gulp. “It’s amazing. It’s gonna sell like c-crazy.”

Klaus batted his eyelashes at Five. “See? The man with a deadly weapon said you should do what I tell you—“

_“Fine,”_ Five snapped. “You can sell it.”

_“Yes!”_

“—one bottle of schnapps, and then say we’re out. Limited edition. Diego, go get the doors.”

Diego—oh god, he fucking waved and it was so cute Klaus wanted to scream. Was this ever going to end?

“B-bye, Klaus.”

“Go guard the door, Fruit Ninja. Protect us from the scary sororities.”

The knife flip Diego did in response was probably supposed to be smooth, if he didn’t fumble it and drop it on the counter.

—right when Allison arrived, bent over to put her bag under the bar. 

Klaus suppressed a sigh.

“…I’ll let you know if we’ve got any citrus we need, buddy. Now scram.”

It was a dismissal, and probably a little mean. But Klaus was suddenly too tired to care. Lusting after a straight guy was emotionally exhausting.

He was totally projecting that Diego seemed disappointed as he headed back to the door. Probably.

Allison shot him a glare. “That was harsh, Klaus. He was trying to impress you.”

Klaus grabbed his sad, gray pairing knife and set to work on a shriveled lime. “He’s here for you, babe.”

“Please,” Allison scoffed, “he didn’t even notice I’d showed up! What he did notice was you pushing him away, like a jerk.”

“The word I’d use is ‘asshole’.”

“Nobody asked you, Ben.”

Ben smirked. “And yet.”

Klaus let out a huff of frustration, suddenly in a much darker mood. “Five told him to go watch the door.”

“Five can hear you,” Five snapped from halfway down the bar, “and he was fine with it, because he would honestly prefer that you two get the sexual tension out of the way before there are customers around.”

“We do not—“

“Have you ever thought,” Ben cut in, putting his beer down with an unusually serious expression on his face, “that you’re pushing him away as a defense mechanism?”

“From what,” Klaus muttered darkly, “straight guy syndrome?” In the background, Vanya had started playing “Another One Bites the Dust”, and Klaus had an inane moment wondering what Freddie Mercury would think of this conversation. “I’m trying to stop him from hitting on me before he regrets anything—”

“First off,” Ben said, “bisexuality is a thing—“

“—yes it is, but we have no _proof_ he’s bi,” Klaus steamrolled on, before he could stop himself, “and even if he is, he’s not an _invading army._ I’m not covering him in boiling oil.”

“Not without a safeword you’re not.”

Klaus shot Ben a glare. Ben just grinned, pleased as punch.

“Anyway. And it’s not like I have anything to defend. I have no issue with being hit on, as you’ve seen multiple times.”

“And heard,” Ben added genially, “because you refuse to buy a ball gag.”

Klaus threw his knife down as Allison burst out laughing.

“My point is,” Ben added, as soon as Allison’s giggles subsided, “you _like_ him. You've caught _feelings_. And that’s different. You haven’t liked anyone since—“

_“Cut it out”,_ Klaus snapped, sudden and harsh.

The bar went quiet.

Allison and Five shared looks of fearful confusion: Ben went pale and covered his mouth. Even Klaus knew the level of venom in his voice had been excessive, but it had lashed out of him, from some deep, mean place in his soul that would never be over it.

“Sorry,” Ben said, stricken, “I shouldn’t have—“

“It’s fine,” Klaus lied, taking a deep breath. _Count backwards from three,_ said the voice of the rehab counselor in his head, Sharon, with the fish-shaped earrings and the office decor from Pottery Barn. Klaus never liked the counsellors, but Sharon had been the most tolerable. 

He grabbed Diego’s abandoned Peach Schnapp-sody and knocked the rest back in one gulp.

“Let’s just get through the night, okay? We can do that.”

If he’d looked at the door, he would have seen Diego looking at him with concern, but he doubled down on his lemon instead.

. . . . . . . . . .

Apparently, it was Klaus’ turn to get creeped on this week, because life was funny that way.

“I’m just saying,” the guy said, leaning against the bar like he owned the place, “you look tense. Loosen up a little.”

“As much as I appreciate the offer,” Klaus shot back, trying to keep a smile plastered on his face, “I can’t drink on shift, so. Gracias, but de nada.” Even if he’d been off shift, he wouldn’t have taken a sparkling water from this guy: the dude had a ridiculous handlebar moustache and enough entitlement to smother even the most ill-advised boner. Klaus was into the leather daddy thing, but even he had his limits.

“What time are you off, then?” The guy’s leer was so gross, Klaus felt like he needed a shower.

“I have to drive my roommate home.”

“That wasn’t an answer to my question.”

Jesus christ, Klaus wondered, was Ben going to have to cover for him while he hid at the McDonald’s around the block again? Because he was getting tired of it, and also, they’d stopped making extra apple pies for him after—

“Klaus? This guy bothering you?”

Klaus didn’t know whether to sigh in relief or run away at the sight of Diego, but even among the swirl of emotions he’d been trying to suppress all night, he had to admit Diego’s scary swagger was sexy. 

Handlebar Moustache (christ, him and Tan Suit should form a creep collective) raised an eyebrow. “I’m not—“

“I asked my coworker,” Diego snapped.

“Some people,” Klaus said, meaningfully wiping a glass off and looking the guy straight in the eye, “need to understand that I serve other customers.”

“You heard the man, sir,” Diego said, raising an eyebrow. “Move along.”

“And how are you going to make me,” the man snapped back, “with your pink glitter knife?”

“So what if I do?” Diego replied, something dangerous in his voice that made Klaus’ traitorous cock twitch. “I was in special forces, buddy. I fought in the shit.”

And suddenly, the arousal was gone, replaced with a wave of nausea.

“And the first thing they teach you is that it’s not your weapon—“

The knife flew through the air with a sharp hiss, landing an inch away from the cash register.

“It’s how you use it.”

The guy gulped, and somehow, that was that. Klaus knew that if he was behind this bar a minute longer, if he waited for Diego to look at him with approval or had to hand him his knife back then something terribly embarrassing would happen, like him just fucking crying for reasons that he’d cry more to have to explain.

“I’m taking my break,” he muttered to Allison, grabbing his pack of smokes from under the cash register.

“Klaus—“

“Don’t ask.”

. . . . . . . . . .

 

Diego found him out back ten minutes later. Klaus presumed that Allison sent him.

“F-five sent me.”

Klaus looked down at a weird-shaped stain on the pavement, and tried to fight the shame crawling up his spine.

“Want one?”

“Y-you smoke?”

Klaus shrugged. “Better than what I used to gamble my life on.”

Diego didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. The silence stretched on.

“Look,” Klaus said eventually. “I’m sorry I snapped at you in there. It’s not personal, Ben just…brought something up, and it’s a bad…” How could he even put this? “…it’s been a bad night.” Klaus doesn’t even know when it started to become a bad night, but the worst thing about bad nights is that you never know when they’re going to hit you.

“You don’t have to t-talk about it—“

“My boyfriend was in the military,” Klaus cut in. “Fiancee, actually. He died before he could ask, but…I found the ring, in his stuff.” Talking about Dave still hurt, but when he didn’t use his name, and got it over with quickly, at least it didn’t stab anymore. “So it’s just…sorry. Bad memories.”

Diego stammered even more than usual. “I’m s-sorry, I can l-leave if—“

“Don’t.” _Please._ “It’s not you.” _Not the way you think it is, anyway._ “I just…haven’t been with anyone since, emotionally.” 

Except drugs. Drugs had been Klaus’ biggest emotional relationship, at least since the funeral.

“And now I think I like a guy, really like him, and it’s kind of messing me up.”

That was safe to admit, right? Maybe Diego would be grossed out and straight, and wouldn’t ask questions, but a voice that sounded like Ben’s in his head that was getting increasingly hard to ignore hissed _there’s no way he’s straight with the way he looks at you_ —

Diego groaned in frustration and leaned against the wall.

“Klaus, I’m so s-sorry—“

“What are you apologizing for?”

“I didn’t know you weren’t, that you were, um, taken. Or I w-would’ve stopped—”

The lanes of traffic in Klaus’ brain crashed into a five-car pileup.

_“What?”_

“I-I kept, um—“ Diego’s blush was so brilliant, it was almost fuschia— “k-kept coming over to the b-bar, trying to t-talk to you, but I’d always f-fucking—you make me f-fucking stutter, you’re so p-pretty and I’m so f-f-fucking _nervous,_ I haven’t been this b-bad since _basic_ —“

“You _weren’t_ hitting on Allison?”

Somehow, despite the brain-numbing embarrassment Diego was clearly feeling, he still managed to look at Klaus with an expression that read _you are the dumbest person on Earth._ “No.”

It was the simplicity of the answer that got Klaus. Like it should have been brain numbingly obvious that Diego had been there for him, the whole time. In retrospect, Klaus thought, it kind of was.

“Diego,” he started, stopped. Threw the cigarette down and stepped on it. They might be in a dirty alley behind their workplace on a ten-minute break, but if Klaus was going to do this here, he was going to do this right. “The guy I had feelings for.”

“R-right.” Diego looked so hagdog, Klaus wanted to pet him. “I’ll b-back off.”

“ _No,_ you sexy moron. The guy I have feelings for is—“

An overwhelming screech of a dozen sirens cut Klaus off.

Diego jumped. “W-what the hell?”

“Isn’t that your ride?” Cockblocked by the goddamn police. Klaus hated his life.

“No,” Diego said, eyes filling with fear as he looked to the end of the alley. “That’s not Patch. Something’s wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To answer the important questions here: I imagine the Peach Schnapp-sody as a combination of whiskey, peach, and sparkling wine. Much like the song it’s named after, it’s several things that shouldn’t work together yet somehow combine perfectly and it’s delicious.


End file.
